


We'll Figure It Out

by AcidKraken



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Awkward Romance, Boundaries, Comfort/Angst, Consent Issues, F/M, Feelings Realization, Free Will, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-06-13 02:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15354222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidKraken/pseuds/AcidKraken
Summary: He was used to a selfish existence, a simpler existence. But she’d started to matter, and it wasn’t the contract telling him to care.---There's a steep learning curve when it comes to friendship - and when friendship gives way to something deeper, both Charon and  the Lone Wanderer strain to make sense of it all.(A WIP of connected one-shots for my favorite pairing. Sweet romance with some light angst.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [FWU_2019_Jan_New_Beginnings](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FWU_2019_Jan_New_Beginnings) collection. 



Sadie drinking herself under the table had become a nightly ritual at Gob’s saloon. And after one too many, she'd fallen asleep, arm under her chin, her cheek mashed against the sticky bar top. 

Charon watched her nod off, and made note of it. He’d traveled with her for barely three months, and only recently had the shock of who she _was_ worn off on him. And now, in moments like these, he'd begun to parse out the habits of a wasteland legend. 

For his employer, a week in Megaton seemed a long time to stay in one place, especially with no end in sight. Maybe she was restless. Maybe that explained the drinking. Maybe this was typical. He didn’t know her well enough to judge.

Charon shot a glance at the bartender. Gob knew Sadie better than Charon could ever hope, and Charon hardly knew Gob at all. He was shocked, at first, to see a familiar face here, no matter how faint the recognition. And out of that grew a quiet understanding between them. Gob offered answers for questions Charon didn’t have the courage to ask. 

Catching Charon’s eye, Gob set down the glass he'd been washing. He leaned back, balled up the dirty rag in his hands, and stared pensively at a crack on the wall.

“The drinking isn’t exactly...” Gob began. “It's not... Well...” 

Gob trailed off, then shrank a bit, crossing his arms tight. He didn’t seem to know how to broach the subject. He’d chided Sadie about it once or twice. But that was friendly banter, and this was something else. 

“It is... concerning to you,” Charon said. 

Gob shrugged.

“It’s just _odd_. Did something happen out there? On your way back to Megaton?”

Charon wasn’t sure what qualified as noteworthy for someone like her. They’d been shot at - they’d seen less than palatable sights - but she took it in stride. She told him bits and pieces of her story, and the rest he’d patched together from months of listening to the radio. She fought battles, lost friends, wiped out the Enclave. She’d seen her fair share of the wasteland. The only marked change from the usual chaos, it seemed, was _him_.

The question hung in the air for quite some time. Gob sighed. It wasn’t out of impatience, though, and Charon appreciated that. Sometimes he just didn’t know what to say, how to say it, and it was easier not to speak at all.

“Look,” Gob said at last. “I just think you might be able to... encourage her to take it easy.”

Charon shifted uncomfortably. 

“She may drink if she chooses,” he said. “It is not my job to intervene. It is my job to protect her.”

“Buddy... She’s the Lone Wanderer. She doesn't _need_ you to protect her.”

Charon swallowed. That possibility had crossed his mind quite a few times already. It complicated things. 

“If that is true...” Charon said. “I am not certain why she purchased my contract.”

“Because she was trying to help you. She cares about you. She’s a _good person._ You get that, don't you?”

He did, in theory. Ahzrukhal was cruel, and he was impersonal. Sadie was neither. She treated Charon like an equal, like a friend. He'd fallen short of returning the favor. He didn't know _how._ All he knew how to do was what she required of him. 

“I don’t know what’s eating her, but she could use some comfort,” Gob said. “It’s the least you could do... And don't look like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like I just asked you to disarm a bomb.” 

Gob may as well have. Charon looked at Sadie, and he became painfully aware. He didn't know the first thing about how to comfort someone. In fact, Ahzrukhal had seen to it that he was well versed in doing the opposite.

“Look,” Gob sighed. “I gotta close this place up, and she’s out cold. If you don’t mind carrying her out of here, you’d be doing me a huge favor.”

Charon stiffened, then reached out and jostled Sadie’s shoulder. She grumbled, but stayed limp. Reluctantly, he hooked one arm under her legs and wrapped the other around her torso. It didn't take much to lift her. For someone capable of cracking open a man's skull with a rifle butt, she was unbelievably light. 

For a moment, he was enthralled enough to forget who he was carrying. But then the panic set in. How would she react if she woke up like this? Would she be angry? Disgusted? 

Charon drew in a shaky breath and adjusted his grip, cradling her head in the crook of his arm. He wasn’t used to being this close to someone docile. He was accustomed to a certain kind of touch. Grappling, choking, beating. And this... This was petrifying.

“Worried you’re going to drop her?”

Gob chuckled, and Charon mustered up a murderous glare.

 _"No.”_

“You look scared shitless.”

“I am just not... used to this.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Gob said. “Everyone does. Eventually.”

 

\-----

Sadie slept well into the afternoon, and Charon didn’t sleep at all. That wasn’t unusual for him, but it was compounded by a niggling anxiety that he didn’t know how to quell. His favorite calming ritual - dismantling his shotgun, cleaning, and reassembling it - didn’t seem to help. 

Occasionally, he glanced at his employer. It was hard not to. Absent the usual tension in her face, without the huge plates of power armor or the hood covering her shaved head, she seemed fragile. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen. Even in the wasteland, she still pinched her eyebrows together while she slept, still stirred and tossed and turned. She was never this peaceful, always had her guard up. But Megaton was her home, and it was remarkable how different it made her.

He tried to find something else to occupy the time. He expected her to wake at any moment, and didn’t want to be caught staring at her. His shoulder ached, as it often did when he’d ignored it for too long. It was an older wound, but it still needed attention. Tending to it was better than nothing.

It figured that as soon as he pulled the bandage loose, she stirred. She didn't open her eyes, at first. She just groaned.

“Oh, Christ. My head.”

She sat up, but she didn't look at him. 

“Fuck,” she muttered. “I overdid it.”

He watched her stagger to the kitchen. She poured a shaky glass of water, put it to her lips, then frowned quizzically.

“How did I get back here?”

“I carried you.”

“Oh, god.” She flushed a little, and mashed her hand against her face. “You didn’t have to do that. I would have woken up. Eventually.”

“It was quicker this way. And you are not heavy.”

No matter how hard Charon tried to be reassuring, he always seemed to miss the mark. Sadie sighed into her glass. At a loss of what else to say, he went back to tending his wound. He turned away and tugged the half-unraveled bandage from his arm. 

“How is it?” she asked. 

She closed the distance between them, eyeing the wound with a pained look. She'd already put her guard up again. Shoulders back, slight furrow in her eyebrows, jaw set forward. She was coiled tight.

Charon tied a fresh bandage and yanked his sleeve down before she could really assess the damage.

“It is mostly healed,” he said.

“And your shoulder?”

She stared him down. He rolled it twice, hoping she didn’t notice the slight wince that followed. 

“It is stiff,” he said. “But improving.”

She sighed. 

“I know I've said it before, but... I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Please do not apologize. It is my duty to protect you.”

“It shouldn’t be. That's not fair.”

That familiar mix of rage and sadness crossed her face. He’d seen that look plenty of times, out in the wasteland, when Sadie reckoned with something cruel that she couldn't change. He finally put a name to it. Pity. She pitied wastelanders she couldn't save. People she couldn’t help. 

He fit that description, though he wished he didn’t. She didn't want him to protect her. She couldn't grasp that he didn't have a _choice._ He barely knew her, but his contract compelled him. It told him her life mattered more. Telling her that only made things worse.

“You are still angry with me.”

She drew back.

“No! God, no. I was never angry with you. I'm angry with that... that fucking contract.”

He didn’t see a distinction. The contract was so much a part of him that it was hard to tell where it ended and he began. He’d explained that, too, but he'd since learned to keep those thoughts to himself. 

“We've been over this before,” she continued. “You’re not a meat shield. You’re my... My friend.”

Charon frowned. He had a rudimentary understanding of it at best, but friendship and sacrifice didn’t seem incompatible. 

“Friends protect each other. Do they not?”

Her guard slipped. Just for a moment. Her shoulders fell, and she blinked at him. But Sadie seemed to always revert to a state of doubt. She tensed again, her gaze hardening ever so slightly.

“Is that why you did it?”

She looked him in the face, scrutinizing. And he didn’t _know._ He'd pushed her aside, taken a bullet for her, and there were so many reasons why. The contract always compelled him first, before he could think, before he could choose. It was only convenient that he happened to agree with it this time.

What could he say? That protecting the wasteland’s only hero was a crushing responsibility? That he’d not only be failing _himself_ if he let her die? That he felt some obligation to her that he didn’t quite understand?

He could see now that his silence was killing her. He had to say something.

“Yes.”

She pressed her lips together in a line. Maybe she didn’t believe him. Or maybe she didn’t want friendship, in which case Gob had set him up for failure. It was entirely possible. Sadie was guarded one moment, and earnest the next. She was easy to misread.

She made her way back to the fridge and pulled out a beer. Charon followed her with his eyes. She popped the cap off, glanced back at him, and frowned.

“What?” she asked. “You’re giving me that... look. That thing you do.”

Charon never thought of himself as an open book. But somehow, Sadie knew exactly when he didn’t want to say something, and managed to pry it out of him anyway.

“This is bothering you,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

She swished the beer in her hand. Charon nodded slightly, and Sadie sighed. She put the bottle down on the counter and curled up a bit where she’d perched against the ledge. Her fingers dug into her arms. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll give it a rest. I promise.”

He looked at her skeptically.

“Ok. What now?” She mustered a weary half smile and shook her head. “I’m getting pretty good at this, but I can’t read your mind.”

“You seem... unhappy.”

“I’m just... Thinking too much. I always think too much. I’m never sure if I’m doing the right thing, Charon. It's exhausting.”

Charon suppressed a sigh. He never anticipated the fabled Lone Wanderer to be someone so keen on self-flagellating. It was awkward, to say the least. He wasn’t used to being talked at, and he never knew how to respond. 

“Can... Can I ask you something?”

He gave her another nod. Better to stay quiet and listen. She always filled in the gaps. For someone who supposedly traveled the wasteland alone before she met him, she was remarkably afraid of silence.

“Are you happy?” she asked. “Staying with me, I mean?”

He thought about it. Ever since she led him away from Underworld, Sadie brought feelings of uncertainty, twisting sensations in his gut he'd never felt before. He was wary of her at first. But then he realized who she was. He respected her. And somehow, that made everything harder.

“Don't leave me hanging on this. Please,” she said. “And be honest.”

“I... am not sure.”

She withered. Charon grit his teeth. Talking to her was painful. He never had enough of a chance to explain, never enough words, never enough time. 

“I’ve... I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” she blurted. She chewed on her thumbnail, hard, grimacing while she talked, as if each word stung. “You should have a choice. If... If you don’t want me to have your contract, we can figure something out. I won’t... I won’t just leave you with anybody. But we’ll make it work. Just tell me what you-”

 _“You are misunderstanding.”_

It was more forceful an interruption than intended, but he was frustrated. And it worked. She drew back in surprise and stopped talking. He stood up, at a loss of what else to do, and took one hesitant step forward. Visibly shaken, she closed the gap between them and reached out. Her fingers came inches from brushing his forearm. Then, she balled her hand into a fist and pulled back, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

He didn't quite understand her instinct to touch. She only did this when their conversations got difficult, which they so often did, but she never had the courage to follow through. 

“I wish to stay with you,” he said, haltingly. “But I am not very good at this.”

“At... What?”

“Being... what you would like me to be. Being your friend.”

She looked up and met his eyes, and he felt a cold spike of fear. He didn’t know he could feel so petrified without his life in danger. But then again, his life was the only thing worth protecting before she’d come along. Maybe this was normal. He was used to a selfish existence, a simpler existence. But she’d started to matter, and it wasn’t the contract telling him to care.

If this was friendship, it was terrifying. There wasn’t a road map for this kind of thing. The longer they spent together, the more he noticed a subtext in every conversation, a hidden meaning that he missed more often than not. It was as if they spoke in code. He’d rather have a gun in his hands, rather be taking fire. He knew what to do in those situations. 

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. He didn't know if it's what she wanted. He was painfully uncertain about this. About _everything._

She reached up for his hand, haltingly. He almost yanked it back, sure that she was going to brush him away. But she placed her palm on his, and kept it there. And after a moment, she smiled in a way he’d not seen before. A genuine smile, one that reached all the way to her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “You’re doing just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my take on FLW and Charon's dynamic. I've read a lot of fics on here and gotten a lot of inspiration from all over, but what's really stuck with me is the gentler and more wholesome fics that make the best out of a complicated relationship. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, and keep reading for more :)


	2. Chapter 2

Charon’s armor looked new, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. 

Sadie had fixed it up by hand. She’d washed off layers of grime, buffed out the scratches, replaced clasps and broken hinges and countless other markers of neglect. He didn't ask her to, but she'd gone and done it anyway. She stood a few feet away, watching, as he put the last few pieces on. 

“So, what do you think?” 

Charon fiddled with a strap, cinching it against his skin. The armor didn't quite fit now that she'd swapped out some odds and ends, but that wasn't the problem. Something else irked him, a jolt of discomfort, and he couldn't put a name to it.

“I thought you deserved something nice,” she said. “I thought about buying you a whole new set, but this suited you so well... So....”

She trailed off, and when he said nothing in return, she chewed her lip, waiting. Sadie had a habit of looking him in the face, and as always, the longer she stared, the more exposed he felt. Charon realized all too late that he’d been scowling.

“Was that okay?” she said. “That I messed with your things? I thought you wouldn’t mind, but it’s fine if... If you’d rather I hadn't.”

“It is alright.”

She frowned skeptically, then looked away, her arms crossed tight. 

“Are you sure?” 

He wasn’t, but he nodded anyway. He could sense her agitation, and he didn't want to make it worse. She never lashed out at him, never raised her voice. She never even came close, yet he found himself bracing for it all the same. 

“Fuck,” she breathed. She scraped a hand across her head and paced to the side. “You know... I... I probably should have asked first.”

She turned toward him. Charon startled and took a step back. Perhaps it was the width of her stride, the suddenness of it, that spurred him. Perhaps it was just dumb instinct. In any case, it wasn’t warranted, and he wished immediately that he could take it back.

Sadie froze, at first rigid with surprise. Then, her shoulders sank, her face contorting with a pained acknowledgement. 

“Shit,” she said. Her voice cracked, falling to a hoarse murmur. “I’m sorry. I’ll take it down a notch.”

She backed away, then plunked down at her workbench, rubbing her face with her hands. Charon felt a hot flush of shame. Sadie wore her frustration on her sleeve, she always did. But she never let it get the best of her. He knew that. He knew _her_. 

“Please,” he said. “Do not worry about it.”

Sadie pressed her lips together, staring at the wall, then gave him a weak smile.

“You know I'm not great at that. But I’ll try.”

She reached for her favorite rifle, where she’d propped it against the workbench, and laid it across her knees. She fiddled with it for quite some time. Charon sank into the armchair nearby, at a loss for what to do. He settled for taking stock of his ammunition, picking through shells and sorting them into piles. It was a mindless task, and it didn’t make the silence between them any more bearable. 

“It... It must have been like that a long time,” she said at last. “Your armor, I mean.”

She spoke in a half-whisper, breaking the silence as gently as she could. Charon hesitated. It wasn’t a question, but he felt compelled to answer anyway.

“Yes,” he replied. “As long as I can remember.”

Sadie drew in a sharp breath, as if she had something else to say. Charon glanced up at her. He expected to meet her eyes, expected her to speak, but she didn’t. She frowned at the gun in her lap, cradling it, polishing the stock with a needlepoint stare reserved only for moments of extreme care.

She ran her fingers along it, tracing the surface and searching for imperfections. She’d done the same with his armor. Charon shifted, suddenly aware of how intimate a gesture it was. This collection of straps and buckles was as much a part of him as his contract, the only possession aside from his shotgun that truly mattered to him.

He ran his hand over the plate on his shoulder, unsettled by how smooth it felt to the touch. He'd memorized the flaws she'd stripped from the surface. Little pits chronicled every cigarette Ahzrukhal ashed on the leather, every despicable order Charon had no choice but to follow. Each gash, each bullet hole, reminded him that he was disposable. In one simple gesture, Sadie had done away with all that. The abruptness of it stung. 

Charon looked at Sadie. She was so often the source of this wrenching feeling, this sense of being torn in two. She saw the weight of his past on his shoulders. She wanted to relieve him of it. And despite everything she’d done for him, he wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

 

\----

 

Sadie sat beside him at Gob’s Saloon that night, staring into her drink with a more dour expression than usual. They stayed like that for a while, until the quiet between them chafed just a little too much.

“I’ll be back,” she said. “I’m going to talk to Nova.”

She made her way across the bar, shooting a furtive glance at Gob before turning her back. Sadie did this often, when she felt Charon needed some space. She'd sensed some camaraderie between him and Gob, and made a point not to tread on it.

When Sadie stepped out of earshot, Gob walked up and leaned in on his elbows. Charon looked forward to these moments, found comfort in them. The time he spent with Gob wasn’t nearly as fraught. 

“You look spiffy,” Gob said. “Finally feel like fixing yourself up a bit?”

“Sadie did it.”

Gob stepped back and crossed his arms.

“Please tell me you said _thank you._ ”

Charon sighed. He didn’t know how to explain any of it, so he settled for the simplest version of the truth.

“I was... not sure what to say,” he said haltingly. 

Gob rolled his eyes, and Charon grimaced. 

“No surprise there,” Gob said. He looked at the table by the stairs, where Sadie sat with Nova, their conversation a mystery. “Well. That explains the brooding, I guess.”

Charon scowled and scratched at some dried up gunk on the bar top, thinking. Gob never hesitated to point out Charon’s shortcomings, though he’d stopped short of telling him what he did wrong. He'd taken to letting Charon fill the silence, let him sort out the answers for himself. 

“You think...” Charon began. “You think I should do something for her. In return.”

“Wrong,” Gob said flatly. “She's not that kind of person. She doesn’t want anything from you. Try again.”

Charon grit his teeth and bit back a growl. He still couldn’t see things the way Gob did. There were too many twists and turns, too many situations he thought he understood until the last possible second. After a moment, Gob’s expression softened, and he leaned in again.

“Alright,” he conceded. “I’ll give you a freebie, this time, since it’s not really that simple. She’s being nice to you for a reason. She wants you to trust her. She wants you to like her.”

“I _do._ ”

“Then _tell_ her,” Gob said. He jabbed his index finger on the bar top for emphasis. “Tell her until you’ve hammered that into her brain, please. I’ve never seen her fret so much about anything in years.”

He straightened up, turning as a few customers approached the bar, then looked back at Charon one last time.

“I’d like my friend back, preferably without the stick up her ass,” he said. “So do us all a favor, and say it out loud.”

With Gob busy and little else to distract him, Charon puzzled over it. He didn’t think something this obvious _needed_ saying. Sadie had to know by now. He had every reason to feel grateful, every reason to trust her. But separating reason from instinct was simpler when she wasn’t next to him. And she always picked up on his tension when they were alone, noticed every twitch in his posture that he couldn’t control.

He worked up the courage to look her way. She’d been staring at him, and when he caught her eye, she glanced back at Nova. After a moment, she stood and made her way to the door. Sadie paused halfway and looked back at Charon, a silent question on her face. It was a request for his company, a quiet ritual he’d come to expect on nights like these. He gave her a soft nod in reply and followed suit. 

She held the door for him, waiting. He didn’t realize how oppressive the saloon felt until he stood out on the balcony with her, the door shut behind them. The cool air and the quiet was a welcome change. Sadie pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She handed him one, lit it for him, her hands cupped close to shield the flame from the breeze. She lit her own before he could return the favor, a small but defiant act of chivalry. 

Charon settled against the railing, but Sadie stayed rigid, staring over the balcony at the crater below.

“You’d tell me, right?” she said. “If I really crossed the line?”

Charon balked. He didn’t expect such a pointed question. He tried to read her stormy expression, but his eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to the dark.

“I am not certain what you mean,” he said hesitantly.

Sadie sighed.

“If... If I did something you didn’t like,” she said. “If I... Overstepped. If I made you uncomfortable.”

She closed her eyes, waited for him to speak. He stole a glance at her, as he often did, as if examining her might reveal something he’d missed, something more sinister he’d foolishly managed to overlook. He never found it. She was all sinewy muscle and battle scars, her expression severe. But behind that was a softness, a painful sincerity he’d sensed from the very beginning. 

“I often feel uncomfortable,” he admitted, at last. “With you. With... this.”

She furrowed her brow and took a drag off her cigarette.

“What can I do to fix that?” she asked.

“Nothing. I think this feeling is... necessary.”

Sadie looked up at him, taken aback.

“What do you mean?”

“I am... In debt to you. For everything.”

As quickly as she looked at him, she turned away. She flicked her cigarette hard, her expression darkening.

“No,” she said quietly. “You’re not. You don’t owe me a damn thing.”

Charon put both hands on the railing, steeling himself. Sadie was typically stern no matter the circumstance, but this time, he felt he’d said something wrong. 

“I meant... I meant I am grateful,” he said.

“That’s what I’m _afraid_ of.”

She drew in a sharp breath, as if he’d twisted her arm. Charon gripped the railing tighter.

“I worry,” she said. An edge made its way back into her voice, a hint of frustration that made her speak louder and faster with every word. “I worry that you won’t say what you want. That you won’t tell me what you need, because you think I’ve already done enough for you. You think you have to suck it up. And that’s not fair. You’re my friend, Charon. You have to-”

She cut herself off. Sadie still struggled with those too-direct phrases, the kind that snatched Charon's agency away. She drew in a breath, steadying herself for a moment.

“I _wish_ ,” she said quietly, “That you would be honest with me.”

“I am trying.”

She bit her lip and said nothing. Charon knew she wanted to talk, but she’d stopped herself deliberately. She’d given him a chance to keep speaking, and he forced himself to dredge up the words.

“I trust you,” he said. “More than anyone I have known. I am more comfortable... than I have ever been.”

She relaxed, if only a little.

“I’m... I’m glad,” she said. “But... I want you to be happy. _Actually_ happy. Not... Happy on a relative scale.”

“I am happy with what I know,” he said. “You are kind to me. You are good to me. And I am... getting used to it.”

She took another drag, then sighed, letting out a big cloud of smoke. Then, she reached out to where he gripped the railing and placed her hand on his.

Charon blinked at her as she lifted his hand from the railing. It felt odd. She’d reached out to him before, touched him before, but nothing more than a brush on the arm or a brief hand on the shoulder. Gently, tentatively, she weaved her fingers between his. Her hand felt rough. Her knuckles were dark with scars from old fistfights, her fingers all calluses and cuts. The only thing free of blemishes between the two of them was the bracer strapped tight to his arm. 

Perhaps Sadie had given him something he didn't know to ask for. He was grateful that his armor didn’t remind him to pull back, grateful that these pieces of leather and canvas didn’t contradict his decision to trust. She'd given him a little bit of freedom, a way to move forward, if he could just muster up the courage.

“Is this alright with you?” she asked. 

She looked up at him, and he gripped her hand tighter. He found her proximity comforting, the brush of her hand against his a welcome warmth. That sensation kept him in the present, kept him from thinking too hard, kept him from dwelling too much on what used to be.

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”


	3. Chapter 3

Charon ground a cigarette into the ashtray beside him. He'd gone through five or six already, a conservative tally for nights like these. 

He sat at the table outside Sadie’s front door, shivering. He woke up drenched in sweat, and his shirt still clung to his skin, no less clammy than it was an hour ago. He lit another cigarette. One more, maybe two. Maybe the nicotine would finally do its job, and take the edge off before Sadie woke. 

It was wishful thinking. He'd only burned halfway through one of them when the door behind him creaked open. Sadie staggered out, clad in a ratty pajama shirt, bomber jacket thrown on against the cold. 

“You too?” she muttered. She squinted at him, grinding her palms into her eye sockets. “I figured you were upstairs.”

She flopped into the rusted lawn chair beside him. He'd gone rigid with surprise, but she seemed too groggy to notice. She fumbled for the pack of cigarettes on the table, frowning as she shook one from the box.

“Couldn't sleep?” she asked.

Charon nodded. 

“Neither could I... Bad dreams?”

“Yes.”

He left it at that. She didn’t need to know that he'd been coming out here for weeks. The truth would only upset her. Sadie lit her cigarette, then paused, searching his face as she tossed the pack on the table.

“Is... Is something bothering you?”

Charon took a long drag and looked away, stalling for time. He'd been dreading that question for quite a while. He didn't have an answer, at least, not one she'd accept at face value. Simple fact of it was, he'd finally gotten comfortable with her friendship, only to grow less and less certain he deserved it. 

He didn't feel like himself. Lately, sleeping brought snapshots of things he’d rather forget, and with them, a guilt he couldn't shake. He wasn't one to dwell on the past. Unfortunately, this string of rough nights made it difficult to do anything but.

“It’s okay, you know,” she said quietly. “If you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I am just... not certain how to explain it.”

Sadie scraped her boot across a patch of gravel.

“I know what you mean,” she murmured.

Charon shot her a wary glance. Sadie was all too ready to let him off the hook. Maybe it was exhaustion. Her sleeping habits, along with his, had taken a turn for the worse. He heard her thrashing in her bed most nights, though a generous nightcap usually kept her asleep. He'd spotted the half-empty bottle of bourbon left out on the kitchen counter. Why that failed to do the trick tonight was a mystery.

Charon waited for an explanation, but Sadie didn't offer one. Her pained monologues often began with fits and starts, but this time, she kept her lips pressed together, eyes to the ground. Her head rested heavy against her fist.

“You are... restless,” he offered.

He cringed at his own brevity. Sympathy wasn't his strong suit. Sadie shifted, ashed her cigarette, then slouched deeper in her chair.

“It's cabin fever...” she said. “Or its guilt, or something. I don't know. I should be out there, helping people. I'm not cut out for... _this.”_

Charon nodded. He understood, because wasn't cut out for it either - six months in Megaton left little in the way of distraction. No more weapons to scrap, no more junk to sort through. Each day blended into the next, and the boredom made his brain wander to places he wished it wouldn't. Sadie rubbed a hand across her face and leaned back. 

“I need...” she began weakly. “I need to go somewhere. Anywhere. Just not... here.”

“Then we should go.”

Charon bit his tongue. His reply landed sharper than intended, especially next to the silence that followed. Sadie set her jaw, her lips drawn thin. Her gaze bored holes into the dirt.

“Are you sure?” she said, at last.

“I will go wherever you go.”

“If you come with me, you’ll get shot at. You’ll get hurt.”

“I am accustomed to all of those things.”

“I know, but... It wasn't your _choice_ to be.”

Charon scowled. She meant well, but he felt more and more like she'd mistaken him for someone he wasn't. Someone fragile and mild-mannered, someone far more deserving of a gentle hand. 

“I will be fine,” he said bluntly. 

She grimaced. 

“That's... That's not what I...” Sadie trailed off, still staring at her boots. “I'm... I'm asking if you _want_ to.”

“I _want_ to be by your side.”

Sadie blinked at him. Charon tensed, suddenly hot despite the frigid morning air. He so rarely spoke without thinking, but Sadie conjured a perilous mix of frustration and panic that pushed him in ways he didn’t expect. 

He looked at her, bracing for her telling scowl. He didn't find it. Instead, Sadie shrank a little, tucking her chin behind the collar of her jacket.

“I'm glad, ” she murmured. “I was... I was hoping you'd say that.”

Charon held his breath. This, whatever _this_ was, felt uncannily like being held at gunpoint. No one else glimpsed the gentler side of her, no one else but him. He didn’t know what he did to deserve it. 

What she saw in him was anyone's guess. They couldn’t be more different. Every sleepless night hammered that fact home more than the last. Sadie brooded over right and wrong, took the world upon her shoulders. Charon didn't think the world was worth the trouble. Yet, Sadie saw something in him, something endearing, something worth keeping. 

He was certain she’d realize her mistake. It was only a matter of time.

 

\-------------

 

Sadie looked like hell, and Charon's stomach flipped at the sight of her. She was covered in gore. Considering how quickly the battle had turned in their favor, it likely belonged to someone else, but that was little consolation. 

“Are... Are you injured?” he asked.

He stared at the black sheen of blood that splattered up her torso. He was plastered with much of the same. In the haze of battle, he’d forgotten how many raiders he’d killed, lost count of the bullets and nail boards that grazed far too close to hitting their mark. It seemed Sadie had, too. She ran her hands over her torso, her arms, her legs, searching for wounds hidden by the layer of carnage.

“No,” Sadie said at last. “You?”

He shook his head. A quick check turned up some sore spots, but nothing serious. Abruptly, Sadie sat up and brushed past him. She skirted a low brick wall, and when she reached the end of it, she ducked, rifle at the ready. 

“Good,” she said, without looking. “Let's keep it that way.”

Charon balked. He wasn’t used to being taken at his word, but Sadie didn’t question him like she usually did. He expected her to fret over him, to doubt him in moments like these, but the growing tension between them had fallen away. Killing raiders, it seemed, didn't leave room for worry. 

Sadie leaned forward, rested her rifle on the wall, and fired. A quick scowl told him she’d missed. She looked back at him, and gave a signal with her hands. _Wait here._

She lined up a second shot and took it. A few moments of silence, then, a toothy grin. She gestured to him again. _All clear. Come out._

Charon nodded. Her wordless commands weren’t _really_ commands, not as far as his contract was concerned. But they were simple cues to follow. Watching her, waiting for her next signal, it was easy to forget how often their communications broke down.

He followed her into the open, still scanning with the barrel of his shotgun. Sadie stopped a few paces ahead of him. Lowering her rifle, she wiped the sweat from her eyes. 

“Fuck,” she laughed. “That was too easy.”

Dead raiders were strewn in every direction, a testament to the chaos of the last few hours. Charon gripped the strap of his shotgun with both hands. With the mayhem over, he felt oddly exposed. He grimaced as Sadie stepped over a particularly gruesome corpse, one he’d pumped full of shells. Not a single one of them was aimed for a quick kill. 

“Jesus,” she said. She paused, looking over his handiwork. “You really did a number on this one.”

Charon swallowed. Laid out at her feet, clear as day, was a part of himself he couldn’t change. Violence felt good. _Brutality_ felt good. It always did, no matter the circumstance. He winced at the stab of guilt in his chest. He expected her to look back at him, for some disgust to show on her face. Instead, Sadie pursed her lips, then gave a quick nod, as if she were appraising a piece of quality craftsmanship. 

“Nice work,” she said. 

With that, she bent down and shoved the corpse aside, ripping a magazine from a nearby rifle. More out of shock than anything, Charon laughed. He wasn’t well-practiced at it. The sound - breathy and hoarse, hardly much of a laugh at all - stopped Sadie in her tracks. She looked over her shoulder, brow furrowed, and blinked at him. 

Charon drew back a little. Surely, he’d been too cavalier. He braced for her to lash out, to tell him he was wrong to find humor in any of this. He braced for her to unveil some dearly held principle he'd managed to overlook. It wouldn’t be the first time. He barely grasped the way she saw the world.

“I think that’s the first time I've heard you do that,” Sadie said. 

She laughed, then, too. A lopsided grin curled across her face. 

Charon didn’t know what came over him. Perhaps the adrenaline was to blame. Perhaps he'd let his guard down just a little too much. Perhaps it was her disarming, doltish expression, smeared with gore, that pushed him. Whatever the reason, he smiled back at her. It felt awkward, contorting his face in a way he so rarely did.

He wished this feeling wasn’t familiar. Smiling at her, he felt the kind of contentment he’d only ever achieved through something heinous. For so long, he’d been at the beck and call of a despicable person, but he wasn’t _unwilling._ Decades of serving Ahzrukhal taught him to dread the moment this thrill gave way to regret. 

The longer he stood here with her, the more apparent it became - that moment would never come. For the first time in a long time, he’d done something decent, though he didn’t have himself to thank for it. Sheer happenstance put his contract in the hands of someone good. Someone who couldn’t help but be the hero. Someone worth sticking by.

It wasn’t much to be proud of. But it was reason enough to feel happy. 

 

 

\-------------

 

An abandoned shack, a barricaded door, and a small fire made for a more comfortable night than either of them expected. Charon sank against a pile of sandbags, his eyes closed. Once in a while, Sadie’s knee bumped against his, a wordless reminder of her presence.

The most recent lull in their conversation stretched on for nearly an hour. So far, the silence had been a comfortable one, but now, Sadie’s breath hitched every few minutes, keeping Charon on edge. It seemed to him that she had something to say, though she struggled find the words.

“I can’t help thinking...” Sadie said at last. “About why I still do this. Why I keep coming out here, after all this time.”

Charon tensed. Her sleepy small talk was a welcome break from the strained discussions they so often had. Regrettably, this edge in her voice marked a return to the usual. Sadie leaned forward. She propped her elbows on her knees, then screwed her palms into her eye sockets. 

“Shooting things makes me feel better,” she said. “That’s fucked, isn’t it? I should be out here because it’s the right thing to do, not because I don’t know how else to cope. Not because... Because it feels _good.”_

Charon frowned. Her agonizing came out of the blue, and as always, he found himself playing catch-up. Sadie pulled her hands from her face, glanced at him, and let out a sharp exhale through her teeth.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I swear, I don’t do this on purpose. I’m just... angry. I’ve _been_ angry for a long time.” 

Her posture collapsed inward, her gaze downcast. It struck him how small she made herself, in moments like these. 

“I... understand,” Charon said. “More than you know.” 

Sadie scowled and rested her chin on her knees. Charon grimaced. He’d fallen woefully short of comforting her, and there was so much left unsaid. He wanted to tell her everything, tell her that he recognized the bitterness she carried with her. He recognized it, because he carried it too. All the people he’d hurt at Ahzrukhal’s behest stood in as punching bags, outlets for decades of pent up anguish. 

She needed to know. She’d feel _better_ knowing. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to form the words. Sadie reached down and picked up a tire iron she'd set by the fire. She stared ahead, raking the coals back and forth, her jaw clenched tight.

“Sometimes I worry...” she said. “That I'm not the person you think I am.”

Charon scoffed.

"That is... laughable."

Sadie deflated, then jabbed the fire with a little more force, sending sparks into the air. Charon sighed, heavily. He didn't mean to be so blunt, but he ran up against her guilty conscience time and time again, and never once got to the root of it. 

“There is... So little you could do,” he explained. “To make me think _less_ of you.”

Sadie didn’t react. She left the tire iron wedged among the embers. Charon swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know how to interpret her stillness, much less the fact that she wouldn’t look at him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she drew in a shaky breath.

“That means a lot,” she sighed. “Coming from you. ”

She blinked at the fire, then closed her eyes.

“I know it’s stupid,” she said. “But sometimes... Sometimes I just need to hear it.”

With a shuddering exhale, she uncurled, leaning back to rest alongside him. Charon felt he’d let her down. He felt the need to confess - to what, specifically, he didn’t know. 

He sat with it for a moment, tried to make sense of it all. He wanted to explain the breathless anxiety that overtook him in moments like these. He wanted her to know how desperately he struggled to understand her. Though he failed, most of the time, he still found what they shared - _whatever_ it was - well worth the effort. 

He'd never felt so trapped, so pathetically tongue-tied. The minutes dragged on, and he teetered dangerously close to rambling nonsense on the off chance that something would give her solace. He didn't get the opportunity. After a long stretch of pregnant silence, Sadie shifted against the sandbags. Slowly, her full weight slumped against him. 

Charon tensed. He racked his brain, clueless as to why she’d pressed so close to him. He waited for her to say something, _anything_ , until the steady rhythm of her breath spelled it out for him. Sadie stirred a little, nudging against him, but she was undoubtedly, unmistakably asleep. 

With one hand on her shoulder, he prepared to push her away, when something stopped him. For the first time, he noticed the crooked angle of her nose, noticed the scar running along the bridge where she’d broken it years ago. He wasn't sure why such a minor detail held his attention. Until now, he'd never thought of her as pleasing to look at - he'd never thought of _anyone_ that way. Yet, he found himself face to face with an odd fascination he didn't realize was possible.

He released her and leaned back. He _meant_ to move her, eventually. He meant to set her on the ground, ample space between them. He didn’t account for his own curiosity, much less his own exhaustion. In no time at all, he succumbed to both. 

The weight of her body against his already felt a little less alien, a little less like an intrusion. He started to find her warmth soothing, the slow rhythm of her breath oddly hypnotizing. He started to dread the moment they'd part. 

He bargained with himself. Just a moment longer, and he'd put this to an end. Just a few more seconds of comfort, of a closeness he'd never felt before.

Slowly, unwittingly, he let her lull him to sleep.

 

\---------------

 

When Charon woke, it was only thanks to a strip of harsh sunlight coming through the rotted ceiling of the shack. He lay in the same position as the night before, Sadie pressed against him. 

He shifted in a vain attempt to slip away before she woke. At the first hint of movement, Sadie stirred. She blinked herself awake, lifting her head groggily at first. Then, she shot bolt upright.

“F-Fuck,” she breathed. “I didn't realize...” 

She scrambled back, her face flushed a bright shade of pink. 

“I’m- I’m really sorry... I’m not sure what... What I...”

Charon sat up, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sadie glanced at him, then looked away again, chewing her thumbnail with a mortified expression. 

“I... I could have moved you,” he said, hesitant. “But I did not.”

Sadie rubbed a hand across her face, then cursed under her breath. For a moment, Charon worried he’d misread her discomfort. Maybe it wasn’t _his_ feelings she cared about. Maybe she’d crossed a line she never meant to cross, been vulnerable in a way she couldn’t take back. Maybe she never wanted to be close to him. It was entirely possible.

Sadie exhaled, her shoulders falling from where they’d crept up to her ears. For once, it seemed he’d said the right thing, or something close to it, though he could never be sure. Sadie still kept her distance, her arms crossed, fingers digging into her skin. Then, she glanced at him, a wordless apology pinching on her face. 

“I didn’t keep you awake, did I?”

He shook his head. Sadie slouched forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and sat for a minute or two in silence. 

“Did you... Did you sleep alright?” she asked, after a moment.

Charon thought about it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made it through the night. And for once, it was a deep sleep, free of dreams save for a few flickers of discomfort that he could hardly recall.

“Yes,” he said. “Better than I have in a long time.”

He looked at Sadie. The blood hadn’t left her cheeks, but she seemed different now, her embarrassment a little tamer than before. She kept her chin tucked, picking intently at a hangnail, still reluctant to look up. 

“Good,” she said, at last. “Me too.”


	4. Chapter 4

Charon detested the Jefferson Memorial the moment he stepped through the door.

At first, he struggled to pin down the reason. Life had long since desensitized him to the little miseries of this place. The buzzing fluorescents, the sterile white light. The claustrophobic hallways. The distaste that radiated from the Brotherhood scribes, when they passed just a little too close to him.

None of it justified the pit in his stomach. And after puzzling over it for quite some time, he'd realized what should have been obvious from the start - this discomfort had everything to do with Sadie. 

She hadn't said a word to him since they entered the memorial. She kept her eyes down, weaving between desks and bundles of terminal cords as if by memory alone. She'd been here before - he knew that much. The scientists here gave her a wide berth, didn't greet her outright, but curt nods and fleeting eye contact belied how accustomed they were to her presence.

His understanding beyond that was cursory. There had been signs that something wasn't right. Sadie’s feet dragged the closer they got to Rivet City, and after a few drinks aboard the carrier the night before, a blunt confession came tumbling out. 

_My dad died here, three years ago._

She didn't offer much of an explanation, and Charon didn't ask for one. It seemed the right thing to do, at the time. He'd never seen her bite back tears before. He didn't know how to respond. And she was drunk, all too eager to run from unpleasant memories and talk about other things.

He'd taken the easy way out. And now, thanks to his own cowardice, he struggled to understand what had come over her. Sadie stopped in front of a metal door. What lay beyond it was a mystery, but Charon suspected the epicenter of some past trauma. Her distant stare focused on the worn carpet beyond her boots. The few minutes she'd spent here, hesitating in silence, felt more and more like an eternity. 

The onlookers she attracted didn’t help. Out of the corner of his eye, Charon watched a handful of scientists and aides pretending to gather around a terminal. They glanced back at their clipboards as soon as he caught them staring. He wouldn’t think much of it, usually. He was used to being a sideshow. Sadie was no stranger to it, either, a frequent recipient of disdain for choosing a ghoul as her company. But this was different. He recognized something in their faces, something other than contempt. Something Sadie rarely elicited in anyone. He recognized pity.

Charon tried to ignore them. Sadie had a white-knuckle chokehold on the door handle, and he watched as her fist clenched, adjusting her grip time and time again. Something kept her from turning it. He only had himself to blame for not knowing what. 

At a loss, he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently, so as not to startle her. Sadie stiffened anyway. Her gaze flashed up, then dropped back to the floor. She turned away just enough to hide her expression.

“I just... Need a minute,” she said. “I'll be okay.”

She exhaled. And despite the slight tremble in that breath, her steady voice gave little indication of the turmoil he'd sensed beneath the surface. Charon gripped her shoulder tighter. His touch was a feeble attempt at reassurance, a reminder that he was still beside her. It was a poor substitute for the words he couldn’t find. 

And yet, it seemed to work. 

Sadie braced a second hand on the door. Another shaky breath, another clench of her fist on the handle. 

She pushed it open. And with her jaw set, her eyes forward, she stepped past the threshold.

 

\-----

 

Charon stood in the rotunda, under the green glow of the purifier, an anxious sweat beading on his palms. Sadie wouldn't look at him. She stared at some point at the top of the stairs, a landing by a pair of pneumatic doors.

The silence in here was suffocating, now that she’d stopped talking. She'd painted a picture for him. The day it happened. The day she stood on that catwalk, helpless, banging on the glass as she watched someone important to her die. It wasn't the breathless outpouring of emotion Charon had been bracing for. Instead, Sadie laid out the scene in clinical detail, cutting herself off just as her voice began to crack.

Charon wanted to console her, but he didn't have the faintest idea where to begin. He'd not experienced loss like that before - nothing so fresh, nothing he could remember clearly. He'd _witnessed_ death, without a doubt. More than his fair share. Somehow, he felt divulging that wouldn't ease her pain. He couldn't think of a single gesture that would. 

Sadie turned to him then, tearing her eyes from the purifier for the first time since they'd entered the rotunda. She glanced up at him, fists balled at her sides, the stifled agony on her face giving way to uncertainty. 

“Can I ask a favor of you?” she said quietly.

He nodded. Sadie pressed her lips together. Charon waited, his pulse spiking as the seconds dragged on. 

“Would you...” she began, grimacing. “Would you mind... If I hugged you?”

Charon let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He should have expected this. Touch, relief, comfort - they went hand in hand in Sadie’s world. He'd grown accustomed to that logic, but it wasn't his own. He wasn't certain it would ever be.

Sadie stepped closer, but kept her hands at her sides. She waited, fidgeting, a silent question on her face.

“I am... Fine with whatever you need,” Charon said, at last.

Sadie straightened a little, as though he’d lifted some weight off her. Still, she chewed her lip, visibly reluctant to take him at his word.

“If you're sure,” she said. _“...Are_ you?”

He nodded. Finally - albeit slowly - she closed the distance between them. Her approach was awkward, at first. She didn't know where to put her arms. After some fumbling, she settled for a gentle hold around his waist, and pressed her body against his.

Charon stiffened. It was an unwelcome reflex, one honed by decades of close calls. He'd nearly managed to quash it in situations like these. Nevertheless, Sadie sensed the change in his posture. She _always_ did. She pulled back, then looked up at him, her brows pinched with worry.

“You can change your mind,” she murmured. “It's okay.”

She searched his face, waiting, and Charon’s throat tightened. This was a familiar exercise. Each time, Sadie conjured up a new kind of touch, a different kind of discomfort. Each time she offered him an escape route. 

And each time, he grew more and more reluctant to take it.

He pulled her against him. It was forceful - more so than he intended. His arms crushed the breath out of her, and Sadie staggered, thrown off balance by the unnecessary roughness. 

“Is this...” he asked. “Is this alright?” 

He felt her nod against his chest. They stood for a moment, in silence, the hum of the purifier’s reactor core a pervasive reminder of what had brought them here in the first place.

A muffled sound escaped Sadie’s mouth, then. Charon held his breath. He’d never heard his employer cry before, and it was almost unrecognizable as such. She didn't sob, didn't whimper. She just shook silently, her breath escaping every now and then in little strangled bursts. 

Charon wasn't terribly compassionate by nature. Still, he thought he'd react differently to something like this. He didn’t _want_ to let her go, but the longer this dragged on, the more his instincts screamed at him to pull back. They told him she was a source of discomfort, an unknown. A problem he was ill-equipped to deal with. 

That feeling surged as Sadie sank her head into his chest. She pressed her full weight against him, and her body curled slightly, quivering, as if someone had stabbed her in the stomach. Her armor dragged against his ribs. A part of it, maybe some hard clasp or buckle, bruised him when she shook just a little too much. Charon grimaced. He'd never seen Sadie so pitiful. He hated it. He didn't realize until now, how much comfort he found in her battle-hardened demeanor. How much he'd come to rely on that for a sense of normalcy. 

He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, to tell her to snap out of it. Instead, a strange sense of duty kept his arms locked in place. As if gritting his teeth through this ordeal was the same as taking a bullet for her. As if, by holding her close, he could protect her until she found her wits again.

It didn't take long. Slowly, her ragged breathing evened out. Her trembling stopped. And at last, Sadie stepped back, gently growing the distance between them with the soft press of her palms on his chest.

“Shit,” she murmured. “I didn't mean to lose it like that. I'm... I’m sorry, if-”

 _“Please,”_ he said. “Do not apologize.” 

Sadie drew back slightly, then dropped her eyes to the ground. Charon frowned. He wasn’t sure what prompted her to react that way. His tone was terse, less than reassuring, but that was hardly something he could control. He never meant to wound her. More than anything, he just wanted to put this moment behind them. 

He succeeded, but not in the way he'd hoped. As quickly as she shrank back, Sadie stiffened. She set to tugging at her armor and scrubbing at her face, as a familiar tension crawled back up her shoulders. In an instant, she'd drawn her guard up again.

Charon meant to break the silence between them, but he didn't know how. And she'd already turned for the door, metallic footsteps ringing out across the catwalk. 

He followed at a distance, grimacing. He'd begun to grasp where this crushing sense of inadequacy came from. Sadie had made it clear from the moment they'd met. She didn't want a servant. And as the line between friendship and obligation blurred, it became harder and harder for Charon to choose a side to stand on. He wished he could, for _once_ , meet her expectations without floundering. He wished he could offer her something more than uncertainty. 

He could, at the very least, show her he was trying.

_“Sadie.”_

The urgency in his voice stopped Sadie in her tracks. She turned and staggered back in surprise, a hand flying to the holdout pistol at her hip. 

“What?” she breathed. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing like... _that.”_

She gave him a curious frown, a crease forming between her eyebrows.

“I... just want you to know,” he said. “If you need anything else, I am... here for you.”

Charon chewed punishingly at the inside of his cheek. He’d forced the words out as quickly as they would come, but he'd still failed to project any amount of confidence.

Sadie’s hand fell away from her gun. She looked him in the eyes, her confusion giving way to something else. The wide-eyed, bewildered stare she gave him now ground away at his nerve to keep talking. 

Charon swallowed. He felt as if she'd caught him in a lie. Despite what he'd said, how much of his desire to please her was actually sheer force of habit remained to be seen. He braced for her to see that doubt written across his face, and call him on it.

Instead, she stepped closer.

“I... I really appreciate that,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

She looked up at him a moment longer, then reached out and brushed her thumb against his hand.

It was just a small touch, a small expression of gratitude. It didn't chase away the creeping dread he felt, or the gut-wrenching worry that he'd mired himself in something he didn't understand. Still, he found some relief in her fingertips passing over his. That sensation told him he'd done right by her. It told him he'd succeeded, by the narrowest margin, at something utterly alien to him. 

For now, that was more than enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a response to a prompt in the Fanfiction Writers United - 2019 New Beginnings challenge. I thought the existing work as a whole fit well with the collection, but the challenge lit a spark for this chapter in particular.
> 
> Prompt: "Attempting Something New" by Anonymous.

Another night at Megaton’s saloon meant another night bracing for the inevitable. Charon sat at the bar alone, fidgeting, trying his damndest not to look at Gob. He deconstructed the upholstery on his stool, worked his fingers into the seam and ripped at it with undue savagery - anything to distract himself from the current lull in their conversation. He knew for a fact it wouldn't last much longer. 

To his credit, Gob gave Charon a wide berth. For the time being, he busied himself with the odd task behind the counter, but his frequent glances in Charon’s direction meant he’d picked up on his foul mood, and he had every intent of getting to the bottom of it. 

“So...” Gob said, at last. “Are you going to _tell_ me what's eating you?”

Gob didn’t look up from the mountain of caps he’d been sorting. He picked up a handful, dropped them in the cash register, then paused for a moment, listening, on the off chance Charon bothered to reply. 

“I am uncertain what you are trying to say,” Charon muttered.

“Bullshit. I wasn't born yesterday.”

Charon glowered at a dirty glass left on the counter, a last-ditch effort to ward off interrogation. His stubborn silence _never_ worked, not with Gob, but that fact wouldn't stop him from trying. 

“Okay...” Gob began. He sighed and scooped up another handful of change. “Fine. If you’re gonna be like _that,_ then I can start guessing.”

Charon grit his teeth. He didn't want to hash this out - not now, maybe not ever. 

“It's Sadie, isn't it?”

Gob waited for a moment, then looked over his shoulder, shooting Charon an expectant stare. Charon shook his head - more a rebuke of the whole conversation than an answer in and of itself. Lately, the mere mention of his employer made his guts twist. He didn’t see any point in making that feeling worse. 

“Look,” Gob said. “She gets in a funk sometimes. That’s just how she is.”

“I _know.”_

Charon scowled and picked at a wine-stained rag laid out on the bar top. Letting Gob pry a response out of him felt a little too close to rolling over. That said, Gob was a master of one-sided conversation, and trying to outlast him never ended up in Charon’s favor. 

_“Good,”_ Gob said. “Then... Don’t get too twisted up about it. Okay? It’ll blow over. Whatever _it_ is.”

Charon growled, then balled the rag up in his hands. Gob had a solid read on Sadie, the kind only years of friendship could provide. Charon wanted to believe him, but nevertheless, a stinging doubt remained. This latest upset felt problematic. _Prolonged._ Since they last returned to Megaton, Sadie seemed distant, in the most literal sense of the word. He noticed the extra inch of space, here and there, that she’d put between them. It seemed like such a petty thing to agonize over. But he’d taken great pains to get used to her proximity, and now, a few inches may as well have been a gulf.

Gob dumped out a tip jar on the counter. The clatter shocked Charon back to attention. Gob glanced at him, as if he'd done it all on purpose, then set to sorting the caps into little piles.

“She’s been a bit cagey lately,” he said. “But you can’t take it personally. She’s gone through a lot. She comes and goes, you know? You just gotta give her some space.” 

Charon bit his tongue, fought back the urge to correct him. He so rarely felt responsible for Sadie’s brooding, but he wasn’t so sure what to think this time around. For better or for worse, Charon had come to expect her absent-minded touch - the stray bump of her knee while they sat side by side, a gentle hand on his forearm when she squeezed past on the staircase of her home. Those little gestures were markers of companionship, markers she’d painstakingly done away with. Charon couldn't comprehend _why._ And now, as if to make this mess all the more agonizing, she’d spent the whole night across Gob’s saloon, pressed up against someone Charon had never seen before. 

“Jesus,” Gob said. “You’re staring at that guy like you want to snap his neck.”

Charon didn’t so much as glance in Gob’s direction. He’d fixated on that table in the far corner where, earlier that night, Sadie had settled in with a group of regulars. Among them was a newcomer - a rough and tumble fellow, unremarkable through and through. Charon guessed he was a caravanner, some wandering brahmin merchant that paid Megaton a visit every so often. People here seemed to know him. Sadie certainly did. Nothing else would explain her tolerance of his hand on her knee, his arm hooked around her. Nothing else would warrant that smile as she looked at him, laughing at something Charon couldn't hear. 

Gob had gotten _something_ right, at least. Snapping that caravanner's neck sounded appealing, moreso than Charon ever expected. Somehow, that didn't feel like something he should divulge. 

“Ok, big guy,” Gob stepped closer, watching Charon carefully. “What’s the deal? You think he's bothering her?”

Charon didn’t respond. He watched as the caravanner put his mouth on Sadie’s ear, hands wandering, whispering to her as she leaned into his touch. It took a few seconds to sink in. Charon’s temperature spiked, his fists curling against the bar top. No, snapping that smoothskin's neck wouldn't _nearly_ be enough. Maybe a few broken bones, a fractured eye socket. Maybe a bit of buckshot, shredding something that no amount of stimpaks or stitches could reconstruct. 

Gob slapped his hand on the counter, then, jolting Charon to attention. He leaned forward and spoke slowly, eyebrows raised. 

“Whatever you're thinking,” Gob said. _“Don’t._ If she minded, she'd have snapped his neck years ago."

Charon grit his teeth and looked away. He stared at the bar top, willing his pulse to slow, struggling to understand this bewildering, knee-jerk urge to maim. He knew anger, a hundred different kinds of it... But nothing like this. Nothing so unwarranted, so _possessive._

“Christ, I haven't seen you seethe like this since Underworld.”

Charon looked up at Gob, jarred by the mention of a shared past they so rarely acknowledged. Gob furrowed his brow. Chewing his lip, he searched Charon's face with an increasingly pained, _knowing_ look.

“Oh, god...” he murmured, at last. “You poor son of a bitch.”

Gob turned, dumped one last fistful of caps in the register, and shoved the drawer shut with an odd sort of finality. He shook his head, as if he didn't have any advice to offer. As if there wasn't any point in _fixing_ this mess. 

Against his better judgment, Charon let his gaze wander back to his employer, and this time, Gob didn't say a word. He left Charon to suffer in silence, watching as the other patrons in the corner got rowdy over a bit of gambling. They’d buried their table under piles of caps, pocket-sized souvenirs, and one very expensive-looking laser pistol. Sadie wasn’t usually one to sit out on a round of dice, but tonight proved an exception. Tonight, she sat back with that caravanner, leaning against him, head resting in the crook of his neck. Charon grit his teeth. He didn't have any good explanation for the dull ache in his chest, but seeing her reluctance to leave that smoothskin’s side felt like he'd taken a powerfist to center mass. The longer he watched, the more agonizing that feeling became. 

He forced himself to look away. Gob had been staring again, but quickly looked down, frowning as he took a mop to some days-old stain on the tile.

“She's gonna leave with him at some point,” he said, after a moment. “You get what I mean by that, don’t you?”

He did, and Gob should have known better than to cast doubt. Decades of watching Underworld’s drug den left Charon with a thorough understanding of things most people hesitated to talk about. It wasn’t an education he _wanted,_ by any means. And he’d remained indifferent to it all - a fly on the wall to comings and goings, public displays, patrons’ fumbling hands and shallow bids for intimacy that so rarely lasted once the chems wore off. 

This - whatever Sadie shared with that stranger - wasn’t comparable in the slightest. In Underworld, Charon hadn’t known anything approximating quiet closeness. In fact, he only recognized it now thanks to the increasingly gentle moments he’d spent with her. He grimaced, hollow misery wringing his guts like a wet rag. Gob sighed, strode over to Charon, and set his mop down against the counter with more force than necessary.

“Hey,” he said sharply. “Snap out of it.”

Charon ignored him, this time. Something new snared his attention - something about Sadie’s expression, which darkened by the second. She’d been talking for a while, nothing he could make out from a distance, and when she finally went quiet, she pressed her lips together, her expression pained. The caravanner squeezed her tighter, as if to comfort her. Sadie tensed in response. She pulled back a bit, hand pushing against his shoulder, but he didn’t relent. Charon narrowed his eyes. A different feeling burned hot - adrenaline quickened his pulse, sent blood rushing to his ears.

“Look,” Gob said carefully. “I hate to break it to you, bud... But this isn't something you can... Y-You...”

He trailed off, frowning curiously as he looked back at Sadie. The caravanner stood, tried to pull her up with him. He gave her a tug towards the door. Sadie shook her head and dug in, pulling back, adamant and refusing to budge. 

“Whoa. Okay. That’s... _New.”_

Gob’s pinched look of concern told Charon all he needed to know. Another yank, and Sadie slipped free of the caravanner's grip, leapt to her feet, and tried to push past him. He caught her wrist, then. Her eyes went wide, flashing with alarm as he wrenched her back to face him. Charon’s hand flew to his sidearm. It was sheer instinct, as thoughtless as breathing. 

Gob didn't miss a beat. In a split second, he reached across the bar and yanked Charon forward with a fistful of his shirt.

“Do _not,”_ Gob hissed. “I’m serious. Don't be a fucking idiot.”

Charon ignored him and rose to his feet. Gob scrambled forward, still refusing to let go, practically climbing onto the bar in a last ditch effort to avert disaster. 

_“Charon._ You gotta get a grip. This isn’t Underworld, okay? When Simms comes running, it won’t be pretty. H-Hey. Numbskull. _Hello?_ Do you get my drift? Are you even _listening_ to me?”

He was. Still, no amount of sound logic, no amount of chastisement or pleading, could stop the programming hammered into his brain. His employer was in distress, and Charon’s contract demanded he protect her. Any more of this, and there would be a dead caravanner on the floor, bullet between the eyes. He’d killed for less. 

“Please, Charon, you’re making a mistake. You gotta-”

In an instant, Sadie’s concern turned to anger, and she shoved the caravanner back with both hands. Charon ripped his pistol from the holster, then froze. He’d already cocked it, already wrapped his finger around the trigger, but the barrel stopped short, still pointed at the floor. Just like that, his compulsion to kill vanished into thin air, and it wasn’t Gob’s panicked tugging on his collar that did it. The smoothskin staggered back, palms up in a gesture of stunned surrender. No longer a threat, merely a nuisance. Not worth the inevitable damage control.

Sadie whirled and strode over to the bar. Charon stiffened as she approached and shoved his pistol back into the holster. He pried his hand from the stock, then drew in an anxious breath, certain, for a moment, that she'd witnessed it all. It was peculiar. He didn't feel shame for doing his duty, but he still felt oddly exposed - as if any amount of scrutiny would strip away this thin veneer of obligation. As if she could see, all too easily, the tangled mess of feelings he struggled to keep hidden away.

“What the hell was _that?”_ Gob asked. 

Sadie stopped beside the bar. The twisted expression she gave Gob wasn’t a happy one, but beyond that, Charon couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. 

“Later,” she said, voice wavering. “I need to talk to you. Just... later.”

She took a few steps towards Charon, then stopped, leaning against the bar. Her hand scraped across her face.

“Can... Can we go?” she asked. 

It wasn't really a question. She preferred to talk around his contract, but he knew urgency when he heard it. Charon nodded, and Sadie let out a shaky exhale, her shoulders falling slightly. 

“Hey, kid...” Gob leaned over the bar, and Sadie snapped to attention. “You gonna be alright?”

She looked back to the door. A stranger would have missed the tiniest shake of her head, but Gob never overlooked these sorts of cues. And Charon - though hardly able to make sense of them - clung to Sadie’s little mannerisms for dear life. Gob caught Charon’s eye and shot him a patronizing expression, one he saved for rocky moments like these. It was a look that said, _We’ve talked about this._

If only reality were so simple. In the moment, Charon never remembered the advice Gob gave him, the little map markers for navigating Sadie’s stormy waters. To make matters worse, Charon couldn't shake the feeling that circumstances had changed. They'd changed a long time ago, pushed past the point of return, and he hadn't managed to notice until tonight. He stole another glance at Sadie. He had the vaguest understanding of friendship - and an even flimsier grasp on affection - but that said, he wasn't oblivious. He knew what to call this flavor of misery. Recognizing it prompted a gut-punch feeling, a discomfort that only worsened as she stepped around him and made her way to the door. 

Following her felt a bit too much like walking to the gallows. For once, Charon found himself grateful for the rigid set of rules that kept him glued to Sadie’s side. It was his contract, rather than bravery, that bade him to stick to her heel. It was his contract that kept him walking. Jaw set, fists balled at his sides, he matched her hurried stride as she led him into the dark. 

 

 

 

\---------

 

 

Sadie kept a mattress on the living room floor. The jumble of blankets and pillows only added to her home’s general appearance of neglect, but Charon had long gotten used to it. She'd dragged the bedding down here months ago, wedged between two rotting armchairs, so the workbench that drew her during sleepless nights wasn't far out of reach. 

She’d flopped down on it the moment they stepped through the door. It seemed, at first, that she had every intent of staying put - she'd thrown her jacket and holster on a nearby chair, kicked her boots off and left them in a pile, done everything short of burrowing under the covers. Still, tonight was no exception from the norm, and when tossing and turning didn’t help her get comfortable, she gave up entirely. 

Sadie sat at her workbench, now, under a flickering lamp, hunched over the metal guts of an old minigun. Charon watched her carefully. He’d stretched out the couch behind her, shooting furtive glances as she ripped chunks from a rotor assembly. 

Her breathy curses punctuated the metallic sound of tiny parts skittering across the floor. And after one too many screws jumped from the table, Sadie leaned back, rubbed her face, then sat for a moment. She breathed slow, eyes closed, jaw clenching as it so often did when she struggled to shove down her temper. 

Charon had been gritting his teeth through this for weeks, waiting for the other shoe to drop as Sadie’s moods came and went. A night like tonight would usually see her through a fifth of whiskey, and leave him fumbling to pick up the pieces when she came to. But nothing happened like it usually did, not lately. She hadn’t reached for the bottle - not once, not even for a swig or two to take the edge off. That fact did little to put his mind at ease. The reason for her abrupt sobriety remained as inscrutable as the distance she’d put between them. 

Sadie bent down to rummage through a toolbox on the floor, and Charon scowled at the ceiling, a vain effort to keep from looking her way. He'd seen her dole out enough bloody noses and broken teeth to know she hated being stared at. Still, despite his better judgment, his gaze wandered to her yet again - tracing the gaunt angles of her face, following the trail of shrapnel scars that peppered her neck. He welcomed the little stabs of guilt that followed. It was an odd sort of penance, a ritual he’d kept up with all night long. 

Sadie didn’t notice, not immediately. But after a final, vengeful scrape of her hand along the bottom of the toolbox, she looked up, chewing her lip, scanning the room for whatever implement she’d misplaced. Charon’s eyes shot to the far corner of the room. Too little, too late. Sadie straightened in her seat, watching him in curious silence. Then, she scraped the mess on her workbench into a pile, dropped a handful of screws into a coffee mug, and stood. 

A quick yank on a nearby power cord plunged them into darkness. Charon listened as she stumbled across the living room, feeling for the mattress on the floor nearby. She flopped down on it, wrestling with a blanket before settling in at last with a long, shaky sigh. 

“...Hey.”

Charon winced. The softness of her voice offered little comfort. He could spot an interrogation from a mile away. Sadie couldn’t leave well enough alone, and like always, she’d wring a confession out of him one way or another. It was only a matter of time.

“That... can’t be comfortable,” she murmured, after a moment. “The _couch,_ I mean.” 

He frowned. She wasn’t wrong - his boots hung off the armrest, and he’d scrunched his arms under his head in an effort to keep his broad frame from tipping off the thing entirely. Still, he couldn’t fathom why something so obvious warranted comment. 

Maybe this was a roundabout way of asking him to leave. She didn’t typically dance around the subject, but he could take a hint. He planted one boot on the ground, then the other, when Sadie rolled over to face him. The weak light from the alleyway outside bled through a nearby window, illuminating her face. From what little he could see, she watched him expectantly, blanket pulled up to her chin.

“You can lay down, too...” she said. “There’s room.”

The realization took a bit too long to sink in. Weeks of cold shoulders had left Charon desperate for the smallest scrap of contact. But this... This was unexpected, too sudden, too much. His pulse spiked at the mere prospect of lying close to her. It felt as if he'd been sprinting in full kit.

He drew in a steadying breath. They’d slept next to each other before, a handful of times, during their long stints in the wasteland. It was a practical arrangement, a comfortable one. And on principle, this kind of thing wasn't new, or frightening, or noteworthy. Yet, circumstances told him this was different. _Fundamentally_ so. 

“It’s okay,” Sadie said quietly. “If you don’t want to.”

He knew that. And he meant to turn her down, to drag himself upstairs, to put as much distance between himself and this looming crisis as possible. Instead, his body moved on its own. It wasn’t Sadie’s doing. She’d tiptoed around his contract, but another kind of compulsion took its place - one devoid of rules and logic, and all the more terrifying for it. 

He sat up, unclipped the holster across his chest, and pulled it free. Fumbling hands made slow work of his armor, struggling, for a moment, when a final strap tangled under his arm. He hesitated, then. The slight cover of darkness did little to soften his creeping unease, and he looked at Sadie, dumbstruck and unsure what to do next. 

She scooted to the edge of the mattress. Charon drew in a breath, then knelt down, sinking stiffly into the warm space she left behind. It finally struck him how much of a mistake he’d made. They weren't huddled between rocks, or rubble, or sandbags. No awkward layers of armor separated them, no weapons clutched diligently against their chests. Just a ratty blanket, their worn undershirts, and a few painful inches of space - a rift that, for some reason, Sadie still refused to cross. 

“Can I talk to you about something?” she murmured.

She kept her arms tucked close, pinning him with a pained stare. Charon managed a nod.

“I've... Been kind of an asshole lately,” she said. “And I just want you to know... It's nothing you _did.”_

She frowned into her pillow, pulling at a loose thread in front of her face.

“I’m just... confused. About a lot of things. And what happened tonight didn’t help.”

“You are saying... I should have intervened,” Charon said.

Sadie grimaced.

“ _No._ That’s...” She trailed off, then sighed. “That’s not what I meant. At all.”

Charon bit back a growl. He never had patience for these kinds of conversations - or really, any conversation at all. He made every exception for Sadie, but the way she stumbled around difficult subjects chafed him in all the wrong ways. She looked at him, and the slight wince that followed told him he’d done a poor job of hiding it.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be so fucking cryptic. But I’m... I’m not any good at this kind of shit to begin with. And this is... _complicated.”_

Judging by her pensive frown, she meant to keep talking. And Charon had every intent of _letting_ her, but his contract had other ideas. It ripped the words from his throat before he could bite them back. 

“Is there anything you require me to-”

“No.”

It was a soft interruption, barely more than a whisper, but it stung anyway. Sadie looked away, lips pressed together, and Charon dug his fingers into the mattress. He recognized her disapproval all too easily. It often surfaced in moments like these, when he reminded her how little agency he really had. 

This happened more often than he’d like. Anxiety, frustration, shame - those feelings flipped some switch in his head, forced him back into the role of a servant. He tried to keep these slip-ups to a minimum, but no amount of wishful thinking could scrub the involuntary tics from his brain. 

“Maybe... Maybe we should talk about this in the morning,” she said quietly. “It’s late.”

Charon suppressed a scoff. He knew a piss-poor excuse when he heard it. Sadie was kicking the can down the road, as if he couldn’t handle whatever she had to say. He didn’t know how else to prove her wrong. It was stupid, impulsive, but he reached out anyway, snaking his hand beneath the covers, grasping blindly until his fingers knocked against hers. 

“Charon...”

That reluctant waver in her voice didn’t register right away. He took her hand in his. And when he closed his grip, she slipped free, shrinking from his touch.

Charon pulled back with a start. He should have known better than to fall back on old habits, but he’d forgotten how quickly she’d changed the rules. Sadie rolled onto her back - looking at the rafters, at the window, at the dark corners of the room. Anything but him. 

“Look,” she said. “I just don’t know if... It's a good idea to pick up where we left off.”

Sadie’s words didn’t hold up to scrutiny. She’d _asked_ him to lay down with her, extended him an unmistakable olive branch, only to rip it back at the last second.

“I am not certain I understand,” he said, hesitantly.

“I know. That’s exactly the problem.”

“Then... _Explain_ it to me. _Please.”_

Sadie screwed her eyes shut and let out a quiet curse. Charon shoved down the surge of regret that followed. He reminded himself that it was better this way, better to take the plunge and be done with it. Anything was better than letting this problem fester.

Sadie let the silence drag on, frowning at the ceiling, hand resting across her face. Charon bit his tongue and waited. He’d already braced for a host of uncomfortable revelations. But he'd expected them to come in the form of _words,_ not actions. It all happened too quickly - she felt for him under the blankets, then turned to face him. One hand found its way to his chest. The other slid around his waist, holding him as she pulled herself closer. All the while, she looked up at him, searching his face, scanning for the smallest hint of discomfort. 

He swallowed dryly. Too many points of contact bound them together. Sadie’s hips nudged against him, her legs tangled with his. Her fingertips pressed gently into his sternum, where his racing pulse marked the seconds before this inevitably fell apart. A twitch, a shudder, a too-sharp exhale. No matter what form they took, his unwelcome reflexes never failed to make an appearance, never failed to rip the curtain back at the worst possible moment.

Her hands wandered upwards. They came to rest beneath his chin, and she coaxed him to her, pulling down just enough to press her lips to his cheek. Charon flushed hot. Her kiss was feather-light, barely much of a kiss at all, but that made little difference in the end. The intrusion left him dizzy, made his stomach flip like he’d sucked down a bad hit of jet. 

He couldn't stifle it any longer. He let out the breath he'd been holding. It was a sharp sound, sharper than he ever intended. Sadie flinched back. She pulled her hands to her chest, then screwed her eyes shut, face contorting with obvious regret.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “I’m... _really_ sorry.”

She sat up, slowly, pushing the blanket aside. Charon knew was his last chance to interject. He wanted to stop her, to tell her she'd read him all wrong. But no matter how hard he pushed himself, he couldn't muster the courage. He stared at the bedding piled by his face, throat tightening as Sadie dragged herself to the edge of the mattress. She slumped forward, elbows resting heavily on her knees, and buried her face in her hands. 

“That was... stupid,” she said. “And _selfish._ And I... _really_ shouldn’t have.”

Her eyes wandered to the weak glow emanating from the furthest corner of the room - the green light of her wall safe, the place where she kept his contract under lock and key. She stared at that little metal door, her jaw clenched tight, as if she could banish what lay behind it by sheer force of will.

Charon shrank under the covers, reluctant to follow her gaze. Whether locked away in Megaton or shoved deep in the lining of her jacket, Sadie made every effort to keep that scrap of paper from seeing the light of day. She pretended it didn’t exist. Charon tried to play along, but whether he acknowledged it or not, the terms of his contract remained scarred into his brain like a cattle-brand. 

It told him this couldn’t work. It told him she was the custodian of his free will, entitled to wield him as she saw fit. Sharing any anything beyond that was - in some sense - perverse. _Irresponsible._ Sadie knew that as well as he did. She saw it in every involuntary twitch, every robotic string of words that fell out of his mouth. And yet, she’d pressed on, as if playing make-believe was enough to undo untold layers of someone else’s handiwork. 

The result was far from liberating. Charon clutched the blankets to his chest. Sadie’s warmth leached from them, just one more reminder of how brazenly she’d led him astray. For weeks, she’d been pulling him along with benign acts of kindness. She’d dragged him to the edge of a precipice he couldn’t see until tonight. And even now, without the jackboot of his contract pressing down on him, his decisions felt far from his own. 

She’d cast a lingering spell on him, an unseen force that propelled him forward, bade him to sit up and claw his way to her side. Charon reached out on impulse, hand coming to rest on her shoulder. Sadie startled and looked up at him. She reached up slowly, then lifted his hand from her shoulder, guiding it down to his lap. 

“You don’t have to do this,” she murmured. “You _really_ don’t.”

She gave his hand a soft squeeze, then pulled away. Charon bit back the urge to correct her. He’d never felt this beholden to _anyone,_ with or without his contract. Desire, obligation, choice, reflex. She’d mashed it all together into one inscrutable mess. 

“Sometimes...” he said. “It is not that simple.”

Sadie grimaced. She drew in a sharp breath, as if she meant to argue. That little spike of dread spurred Charon forward, and he closed the distance between them without so much as a second thought. He kissed her. It was more of a flinch than anything, a violent press of his lips followed by a too-swift retreat. 

Sadie looked up at him. She swallowed, her throat jumping silently as she let out a ragged breath. Charon froze. For all the icy terror it inspired, her bewildered stare may as well have been an empty clip, a dead-end hallway, a stimpak just out of reach. Whatever hare-brained bit of courage pushed him this far evaporated in an instant. His lips still hovered a few inches from hers, too petrified to pull away completely.

Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. Sadie leaned in, and Charon stood his ground, despite his every instinct demanding the opposite. She brushed her lips against his. Her trembling hands traveled up his neck, then cupped his jaw gently. She planted a second, then a third, then kissed a scalding trail along his jawline. Her mouth wandered down to meet his neck, and she came to rest there, burying her face against his collarbone, holding him in silence.

Charon shivered. The warmth running along his spine faded too quickly to a cold sense of disappointment. He’d heard his fair share of love songs, cloying numbers that dangled romance in front of his face. They taunted him with a kind of happiness he had no interest in knowing, one that didn't fit with his grim understanding of the world.

Sadie’s affection wasn’t enough to change that completely. Her lingering taste on his lips didn’t spark much beyond a routine, numbing anxiety, the kind of dread that often lingered after a nasty gunfight. This was the familiar gut-twisting worry that he’d soon stumble over a tripwire. That he’d left an enemy alive, that one misstep would bring this moment of calm crashing down around him. 

He found an odd sort of solace, then, in the way Sadie trembled against him. She was just as nervous, just as unsure. It was so infrequent that he found himself on even ground with her. But there was something about a shared plight that tipped the scales, something about this feeling of imminent disaster that made him forget how unrealistic her desire for companionship truly was.

This so rarely happened outside of combat. This was the same stupefied feeling that washed over him before pulling the trigger, before bolting past her to land a headshot point-blank. In these moments of shared panic, he came painfully close to being her equal, to walking with her in stride, to acting like the friend she hoped he’d be. 

He clutched her tighter, and she responded in kind, hands grasping at two fistfuls of his shirt. The gesture prompted a flutter in his stomach - a sensation that cut through his dull sense of dread. It was something uncomfortable and unexpected, something he could only describe as a cautious anticipation for what the future held.

It wasn’t _hope_ , not exactly. But it came close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I've reached a stopping point with this for the time being, but if you enjoyed this and would like to see more - please let me know! Feedback always keeps me motivated.
> 
> In the meantime, if you need more Charon fics to read, head over to my page - I have a completed gen work from Charon's POV that y'all might enjoy. And if any of you like ghouls in general, my Desmond Lockheart works might strike your fancy too. 
> 
> Shameless fic promotion aside, as always - thank you so much for reading! I'm always open to concrits and feedback, and I'm excited to give you all more fics to enjoy in the future!


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